


do you ever think about how the heart beats

by bingsha (youtiao)



Category: Given (Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Pining, mentioned/implied Satou Mafuyu/Yoshida Yuuki/Uenoyama Ritsuka, shizusumi crashes hiiragi's date and they go on a date of their own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 09:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youtiao/pseuds/bingsha
Summary: This is unacceptable, Kashima Hiiragi thinks.or, an essay on what pining does to the body.





	do you ever think about how the heart beats

**Author's Note:**

> ha, what the hell. this tiny monstrosity sprung from a joke tweet about hiiragi in this week's episode and i brought it into existence in four hours and a bag of chips. it's, i don't quite know what's gone on, but regardless enjoy these stupid pining idiots

_This is unacceptable._

Really, many things in Kashima Hiiragi’s life are currently unacceptable. Like how he’s in a completely different city than the three of his best friends. Like how he has a c-word (crush. The word is crush.) on one of the aforementioned best friends, and hint: it’s not Mafuyu or Yuuki, who are in some weird—cue hand wave— _thing_ with a guitarist named Uecchi-something. 

All he can really do is grit his teeth and shoulder on. He’s a college student. Gritting one’s teeth and shouldering on is, really, all he has the means to do. 

But, this—this really is unacceptable. 

Let me paint a picture. He sits in a booth at the back of a nightclub, lights so dim they err on the wrong side of comfort. The _strobe lights_ above the stage, however, seem to have a personal vendetta against everyone in the club, with all its ridiculously bright colours and awful flashing patterns. There’s a rose in his lap, still encased in the shiny clear plastic. The music—if you can really call it that—is just, this, awful tuneless _noise_ , which thumps in time with the headache behind his eyes. The air stinks of some terrible combination of sweat, sticky spilled drinks, and people too goddamn drunk to walk outside to smoke. 

It’s half past eight, and the text in his phone reads “meet u at five! ^^” 

Kashima Hiiragi sits, staring at the seat across from him like he’s been doing for the last two and a half hours, and he thinks; _this is unacceptable._

At the end of his first year at college, he finally agrees to a date. Five years ago, he’d made two realisations (which aren’t all that important, really, but): 1. he’s gay as fuck, and 2. _for Yagi Shizusumi_. And ever since, “Pining over Shizusumi” had just become his normal, and it was surprisingly okay. 

Until, of course, he started college, and suddenly pining hurt just as bad as it did the first month. But it lasted for an entire goddamn motherfucking year, and Hiiragi was _tired_. 

So when Yura-chan from stats asked him out to drinks, he’d said (in his head), _fuck this_ , and said (out loud), _sure; when are you free?_

Another half hour passes. Someone passes out by Hiiragi’s feet. It’s—the thump of their body slapping onto the sticky floor makes him distantly nauseous, but he hadn’t eaten dinner—because, you know, he thought he’d be eating dinner on the date. Which has passed, three hours, past. 

It’s half past nine. His gaze has slipped from the seat to the tabletop, which he’s discovered has this neon blue stain from undoubtedly another spilled drink. He’s examining the stain when he sees, from his peripherals, someone slide into the seat across from him. He wonders if he’s so tired and disappointed he’s beginning to see things. 

He lifts his head. He rubs his eyes. 

He rubs his eyes again. Shizusumi sits in the seat across from him, dressed in this really nice bomber jacket and striped button up combination, and his heart starts hurting all over again. He wonders when his imagination had gotten so good he could envision Shizu sitting in front of him so clearly, in an outfit he’d never worn before, pink and purple lights picking point angles in Shizu’s face that Hiiragi’s never noticed before. 

“—Hiiragi. Earth to Hiiragi.” 

Ah. Shizu sounded so real. And older, what the he— 

“Hiiragi? Are you okay? Are you drunk? What did you even drink?” 

_Oh._

His throat protests when he tries to answer, dry from so many hours of non-usage. He sputters, and coughs, and faintly hears Shizu behind a flurry of wracking coughs that make his stomach hurt. But even as he’s hacking his breath out onto that blue-stained table, all he can think is _Shizu_. 

_What is Shizu doing here? He looks really nice. Why is he here? When and how did he get a fashion sense? How did he even find me? Am I dreaming? Ah, I’ve missed him. My chest hurts._

He straightens, and stares. It must make Shizu uncomfortable, because he averts his eyes and scratches his neck. Somewhere in his chest, maybe all the way down in his diaphragm, Hiiragi feels pleased that Shizusumi hasn’t changed _all_ that much in college. At least, not so much that he doesn’t recognise him anymore. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, bluntly, voice still rather raw from the coughing fit. 

Shizusumi mumbles something. 

“What?” 

“I said, I came to surprise you!” Shizusumi says loudly. He shakes his head, and Hiiragi absentmindedly notices how his hair brushes over the lobes of his ears. Which still grow pink when he’s embarrassed. But also sport a new, shiny silver stud, and Hiiragi forgets what he’s thinking. 

He reaches out to touch it. He cuts off Shizusumi’s “what are you _do_ —” with a smirk, and; “My, my, little Shizu has become punk now, huh? Getting _pierced_.” 

“You’re one to talk!” Shizu retorts, getting up suddenly. “Let’s get out of here. It’s fucking disgusting.” 

_Ah_ , Hiiragi thinks dumbly, _he’s taller too_. He snaps back when Shizusumi makes an impatient noise, knee deep in the crowd already. “It might be disgusting but the drinks are cheap!” he calls, jogging a bit to catch up. The soles of his shoes splash in a half-dried puddle of _something_ and he winces. 

“Reflects the state of this place,” returns Shizusumi, holding open the door. It’s nine-something, and the sun’s gone down enough that the sky is a full, all-encompassing indigo. He imagines he can see stars. “And also the company,” he continues, nonchalant if not for the smile in his voice. 

“You callin’ me cheap?” 

Shizu just smiles, “...” It earns him a sharp jab in the ribs. 

For a second, Hiiragi can pretend they are back in high school, staying out past curfew and choking down dealcoholised beer in a karaoke bar to be cool. All they were missing was the dynamic duo, the terrib— _terrific_ twins, Satou Mafuyu and Yoshida Yuuki (frequently bought together, do not separate, etc). Shizusumi smiles, and even though it’s been a year of mostly texting and minimal calling (a curse, the No Goddamn Free Time curse of the college life) and scrolling through social media to see what’s going on in the other’s life, Hiiragi can pretend everything is back to normal. 

They walk a bit more. Hiiragi realises, faintly, that they’re walking away from his dorm, but he keeps walking, finding calm in Shizusumi and the tap tap tap of their footsteps synchronising like they always did. Shizu doesn’t ask where they’re going, so Hiiragi doesn’t either. He’s unsure who’s leading, but when has he ever been? 

That’s just what they are. They don’t quite walk hand in hand, but shoulder to shoulder, quiet in their trust in the other. Hiiragi never walks one step in front or one step behind, and neither does Shizusumi. 

“So, what were you doing in there?” Shizusumi asks, breaking the silence. He’s looking forward, like he always does when walking and talking, but it feels like he’s avoiding Hiiragi’s eyes, for some reason. _I guess not all is ‘all back to normal’, huh?_

He laughs, loud and ugly. “Why don’t you guess?” he says, though he continues without giving Shizu the chance to guess, “Met girl in stats. Girl asked me to drinks. I arrived to drinks, waited for four hours, girl never showed up.” He spreads his hands, half amused and half bitter. “Is this not the modern tragedy of the college life, Shizu-chan?” 

“I mean, if you called me ‘girl’ instead of my name, I’d probably stand you up too,” Shizusumi jokes lightly, knocking his elbow against Hiiragi’s arm. “What happened to the smooth-talking Kashima Hiiragi from elementary school? Did he flee after seeing what the real world is like?” 

“Well, fuck you too, Shizu,” Hiiragi pouts. A neon sign catches his eye, and he stops to peer at it. Shizusumi, too, stops automatically, and tries to look for what Hiiragi is looking at. “I was going to buy you a cake from that shop, despite my terrible college-induced financial situation, but I guess you have to pay now.” 

Shizusumi sputters. “But _why_? I’m a poor college student too?” 

Hiiragi adopts a sugary sweet voice that he hasn’t used since high school, one that had wheedled the ever stoic Yagi Shizusumi into many regret-worthy escapades in its prime. “Come onnnnn, don’t be a penny pincher _now_ , Shizu-channn~ I’m sad and heartbroken from being rejected, fulfill your best friend duties and cheer me up, yeah? I’ll show you what Yura-chan missed out on tonight~” 

“You courting me?” Shizusumi jokes lowly as he’s pulled across the street and into the still-brightly-lit cake shop, and it feels as if something in his heart has been plucked. It hurts and makes him feel alive. “Ah ah ah, I don’t think making your date pay is proper date etiquette.” 

“Fuck normal people date etiquette,” Hiiragi responds, getting a look from the late-night staff behind the counter. “You still like vanilla, right?” he asks, and without pausing for Shizusumi’s answer, he stands up. “Can I have one slice of the lemon ice cream cake and one slice of the New York-style cheesecake, no toppings for either, thank you.” 

Cake acquired, in overtly fancy boxes and spoons, they sit on the bike rack outside to eat. Shizusumi stretches out his legs, and Hiiragi almost drops his spoon with the tiny kitten on the handle, because that’s just short of _illegal_ —the way his legs seem to stretch on for miles, made even more evident with the sort of ripped black skinny jeans that Shizusumi was so averse to in the past. He gestures at them with his spoon. “Since when did you un-ban ripped jeans from your closet?” he asks, vowels made strange by the cold ice cream. 

Shizusumi doesn’t answer, staring resolutely at the sidewalk crack in front of him. “Oi, Shizu.” 

“Borrowed them from Yuuki,” he answers finally. 

“Bull _shit_. Yuuki is, like, four centimetres tall.” He turns to face Shizusumi now, balancing precariously on the metal rack. His ass hurts, and the rose in his pocket crunches in half. “Yagi Shizusumi. I’m going to beat up whoever put the idea that you could ever lie to me successfully in your head.” 

The tense silence lasts for four seconds. Then Shizusumi basketball-tosses his empty box into the garbage, followed by the teddy bear spoon like a brown javelin, and Hiiragi almost falls off the rack. Shizu’s blush is such a bright red that looks almost comical. 

“It’s okay, Shizu-chan~ You can just tell me you dressed up for me~” Hiiragi drawls, ruined by the way he hiccups with laughter over every word. Shizusumi scowls, which only makes him laugh harder. 

“At least I put proper clothes on,” Shizusumi jabs back, kicking Hiiragi who rolls around on the concrete. “You look like a slob. Maybe this is why Yura-chan showed you up—she came, saw you, and left.” He continues to slander Hiiragi’s absolutely-not-slob outfit as Hiiragi finishes off his melting ice cream cake, cross legged on the ground where Shizu prods his back to enunciate every word. 

Hiiragi ignores him, too tossing his empty container and spoon into the trash. Only, it misses, and Shizu pauses in his rant to snicker. Unfazed, Hiiragi walks over to pick it up and deposit it in the trash, loping back over to the bike rack with a crooked grin. “So, you admit you dressed up? Did Mafuyu help? He’s studying fashion, isn’t he?” 

“Yuuki forced me,” Shizu responds, unusually grumbly. “I still fucking hate ripped jeans, don’t be mistaken.” 

“Spoilsport.” 

_You look good_ , Hiiragi wants to say, but it sticks to the back of his throat.

The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Water is wet, or makes things wet, whichever you like. You need air to breathe, summer comes after spring, and Yagi Shizusumi looks good. And perhaps Kashima Hiiragi doesn’t need Shizusumi like Yuuki needs Mafuyu, but some stupid hollow part in his chest throbs for him. 

“I missed you.” Hiiragi’s mouth opens of its own accord, and the words come out of their own accord. _I love you_ , is the shadow those words cast. And suddenly, he seems to channel Shizusumi in the way he can’t turn around to look at him, eyes fixed on the street light ahead of them that flickers to some strange other rhythm. He feels—he feels, as if he’d cut open his chest himself, baring all the ugly painful pining things to the cause behind all those things, and it— 

_Stop being so dramatic, Hiiragi._

Shizu grabs his hand, and Hiiragi unsticks. Maybe he’d been aiming for the arm. The surprised look on Shizu’s face as his eyes flash from their awkwardly linked hands to Hiiragi’s face only supports his theory. A stuttered “I... um, I—”, and then Shizu lets go, and Hiiragi’s hand feels so goddamn hot. 

Shizusumi had always run really hot. Like a furnace. Hiiragi had always wondered what falling asleep next to him would feel like. He’s always wondered what interlocking hands with Shizusumi would feel like, especially during the winter, when it was so cold it seemed to bite into Hiiragi’s bones. 

Shizu lets go, and they keep on walking. 

Many things in Kashima Hiiragi’s life are unacceptable. Like how he works every waking hour outside of classes and can barely rationalise bullet-training over to Tokyo to visit his best friends and threaten the shit out of Uecchi the guitarist. 

Like how girls actually stand him up on dates they asked him out on themselves. 

Like how a year apart from his best friend slash holder of his heart hadn’t stomped out the fire that is an insistent crush—was it dumb of him to think a crush of five years and counting would’ve been affected by something as mere as distance? probably—and, as horrifying as it is to think, might have strengthened it somewhat, or something. 

(He wonders, vaguely, if the latter two are connected in some way.) 

**Author's Note:**

> [kayla](https://twitter.com/mafuyuukis/status/1154557400432562176) is my enabler. haha. read her thing  
> im @[yechenz](https://twitter.com/yechenz) on twitter! come yell w me about haruki


End file.
